


These Clandestine Meetings

by orphan_account



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Con Artists, F/M, Gen, Organized Crime, Theft, Undercover, crime shennanigans, literal dumpster child Judy Fluff, messing with canon is my jam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6375274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because of her species, Judy has been specially chosen to go undercover to stop the notorious "Big" crime family through any means necessary. Judy is not built for a life of crime though, and may need a little help.</p><p>alternatively titled: live fast die young bad bunnies do it well</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I mess with the timeline a bit.

The streets of downtown are cold, a sharp chill in the air that Judy can feel in her bones. The sun hasn't risen yet, but the watch on her wrist tells her it will soon.

The watch. It's a gift from her parents, something that marks her as loved and cared for. Judy should probably get rid of it. Her handler, Bogo, told her so a hundred times, but she refused to.

If she's going undercover, changing her personality and her whole life, then she wants something to remind her of her parents with her.

Or- she thought that at the time. In the dark alley, huddled close to a brick wall, she thinks she should toss it. The cold bites at her more harshly when all she can do is stare at the watch and think of her mother's warm den.

She's only been out on the streets for three weeks now, long enough that her skin is getting used to the weather, thick winter coat growing in even though it never has before. She likes the thicker fur, even if it makes her look more round. Another version of herself would have hated the change to her figure, but she needs all the protection she can get from the elements.

“ _I don't know how long you'll be out in the field, Hopps,”_ Bogo had told her, eyes sympathetic and hands curled like he was stopping himself from forcing her to stay.

Her paperwork says she's at Station 78, living a quiet life in Dungfield Den. Only Bogo and a handful of people in the ABI know she's in Zootopia.

“ _We think there's a mole in the Zootopia precinct,”_ Kiana, a cheetah agent in charge of her case file at ABI, told her during her debriefing. _“Which is why we're working so hard to keep your identity a secret.”_

No one from District 1 police station would see her and think undercover cop. No one, really, would look at her and think undercover cop. Judy is the first rabbit to graduate from the police academy, and her first assignment was given to her the night before her graduation ceremony.

She remembers the fear in her gut at the sight of Kiana sitting on her academy bed, a manila folder sitting innocently across her lap.

“ _Officer Judy Hopps,”_ Kiana greeted her with a plastic smile, _“My name is Kiana Quik, head of enforcement relations at the Animal Bureau of Investigations. I have a special assignment for you, if you're interested.”_

“ _And what if I'm not interested?”_ Judy found her mouth asking before her brain could even consider it. Her face burned as soon as she said it, ashamed to be talking to someone so much higher ranking than she in such a manner. But she wasn't wrong, she wanted to be a police officer, not a bureau agent, and something about Kiana made some long forgotten instincts shake in her gut.

Kiana's grin turned sharp, _“Then how does being a meter maid for the rest of your life sound to you?”_

Ultimately, it did not sound like fun.

When it's especially cold at night, Judy finds herself resenting Agent Quik for blackmailing her into this undercover work. Judy thinks she would have been more than willing had she just been asked politely, had they explained that she would be helping to take down resident crime boss Mr. Big, the man who drives fear into the heart of the downtown and rules the seedier parts of Zootopia with an iron fist.

All Judy wanted to do was help people. She would have been honored to be given such a high level job for her first assignment, even if she was only chosen because of her species classification.

Prey. Weak, meak, unsuspecting prey. A cute bunny rabbit.

The sun rises slowly, not like it did back home. On the farm, it would be night and if you blinked really fast, the sun would be in the moon's place. Here in the city, the sunlight crawls inch by inch through every crack and column, rising slowly over the rows of buildings as it climbs to its full height.

Judy waits until it's high enough, until her watch reads 7:08am, and pushes herself to stand.

She loves the city at this time of day, before it's a hustle and bustle of animals heading to work and school and meetings. Zootopia is truly the city that never sleeps, but in the shadier part of the district, everything is quiet and somber in the morning. She wishes she could stop and enjoy the warmth of the now risen sun, but she has work to do.

There's a small coffee shop on 3rd street. It's not good by any means. The beans are always stale and the coffee is always burnt, and they never have sugar, but it's cheap and they let Judy just sit in a booth for a few hours before kicking her out.

The walk there isn't all peaches and cream. Rabbits are known for their speed, fast hands and fast feet and Judy, with her wide purple eyes and _adorable_ face, can smile innocently at strangers while she takes their wallets.

She hates doing it, and in her first week she got chased blocks away because she felt so bad, was too slow about it, almost wanted to get caught so she wouldn't have to do it anymore, but now it's all about survival. Bogo won't save her if she dies on the streets, and her death will just give the world more clause to never allow prey animals basic liberties that predators do.

So, Judy pickpockets.

She never lets her eyes wander over the drivers license, never stops to look at the family pictures held in the billfolds, just takes the least amount of money she can and drops it in the nearest mailbox.

 She uses it to buy herself a cup of coffee, black, and a pastry, even though she knows it'll be dry and stale. The first time she had one she gagged, thought she had chipped her tooth. They're nothing like Gideon's warm pies, but her stomach is rumbling and the nearest grocery store is four blocks south and Judy simply doesn't have the energy or the leeway to walk that far.

Kiana was very strict about the radius she is meant to stay in.

Mr. Big likes to think of himself as the anti-hero of his own story. He pretends he's a classic robin hood, stealing from the rich to give to the poor, except he steals from both and keeps the wealth for himself. He's proud of the downtown area, and he claims to be “building it back to greatness.”

Or, at least, that's what his file had said.

The coffee shop is run by a ram with a bad disposition, who huffs and grunts at her like he does every morning. She thinks he must spike the coffee with his bad attitude and that's why it's so stale and bitter.

Judy takes her paper cup and her napkin wrapped scone and heads to a table with a great view of the window. As she sips, she wonders how her life led to this, incredulous, still, that she would choose and be chosen for this assignment.

Judy Hopps is not a master criminal, or even a petty thief. In fact, before this assignment, the only thing she stole was the breath from peoples lungs each and every time she challenged their conceptions of what a rabbit should be.

But here she is, sitting in a run down coffee shop with three wallets in a jacket she found unattended on a park bench.

Judy doesn't come to this place because of the inattentive staff and the cheap coffee. It only took her a few days to pinpoint the Big's family downtown office, hidden conveniently inside an Italian restaurant. She sips at the burnt brew, watching as animals of all shapes and sizes wander through the doors of a dining restaurant at 8 am. They leave only a few minutes later, inconspicuously carrying on throughout their day.

She's been slowly making a mental list of the frequent visitors to the establishment, not able to afford to write notes down, in case someone stumbles across it, but she makes a game out it, and it keeps her mind busy on the nights when the cold feels like it's burning her.

Porcupine, Lemur, Goat, Rat, Polar bear, Polar bear, Polar bear, Moose, Hamster, Jaguar.

Porcupine, Lemur, Goat, Rat, Polar bear, Polar bear, Polar bear, Moose, Hamster, Jaguar.

 Porcupine, Lemur, Goat, Rat, Polar bear, Polar bear, Polar bear, Moose, Hamster, Jaguar.

She plays it on a loop throughout her brain, trying to see if she can remember them all and laughing from delirium when she forgets. So far, she's done a pretty good job, even if she doesn't have any names, she has identifying features, like the scar above the Goat's eye, and the side of sawed off antlers on the moose.

Last time she called Bogo, he said he's seen them in the precinct a few times, and most definitely to stay out of their way.

Bogo would prefer a lion dressed as a rabbit on this assignment instead of her. She still remembers the way his lip curled, how his nostrils flared when Kiana introduced her. She tries to not take it personally, and it's easy now that she knows the way his voice is soft and warm on the phone, how gently he calls her by her name, how he's her only tie back to her old life, even if he was only in it briefly.

Judy twirls her coffee in her cup and absently adds fox to her list as the orange fur disappears into the building.

\--

Judy waits.

Judy watches.

 It's what she does now, to pass the long drawl of the days where nothing ever happens. Well, actually, _too much happens,_ is the problem. Judy can't focus on one thing when there's a million people on the street. She's used to the idle, relaxed way of living in Bunnyburrow, where no one was in a hurry to get anywhere and everyone stopped to smell the roses. She and her sisters once spent an entire afternoon watching a butterfly escape their cocoon.

 Everything is set to a different pace in the downtown district. Judy is a rabbit though, born to be fast, so she learns the pace easily. She sidesteps tourists and smiles at street merchants. She sits on a dumpster and blends into the hustle and bustle of the city, watching patiently as the city breathes and eats and sleeps.

 She always pictured Zootopia as the sparkling metropolis shown on TV, with tall buildings and fast cars and opportunity. She knows the city in a way she never knew she could before, plugged into the heart of it. She knows it from the bowels up. Even back home, she never felt as comfortable as she does as she takes back streets and alley ways, like the map of the city is imprinted on the soles of her feet.

 Bunnyburrow was her home, but it fit her like a tight dress, always squeezing her into a shape she couldn't fit. She doesn't think of downtown as her home, but there's something grounding about it, something she felt when she was packed like a sardine between her siblings in a family photo.

 Belonging.

 She doesn't tell Bogo that, though.

 They're in a motel nine blocks from the center of her perimeter. She's only been undercover for five weeks, but it felt like years as soon as she saw him, each second on the streets hitting her like a punch to the face.

 She put in extra effort to not cry, fearful that Bogo would think she was cracking and take her off the case, but he must have sensed the layer of loneliness that hung over her like a cloud, because his hoof was tight when he clasped her shoulder, “Welcome back, kit.”

 “Haven't been a kit in like, 15 years,” she grumbles at him, shrugging off the supportive gesture and leaning into it all the same. Judy has always been a very tactful person. Growing up in a small burrow with over two hundred siblings would make one that way. The past few weeks have been draining on her in more ways than one.

 Bogo picked up fast food on the way, and though it doesn't taste anything like her families home grown salad, Judy eats it with a relish she never has before, as if she's afraid he's going to take it away. Bogo is patient while she inhales the food, eyeing her gaunt face and bony shoulders.

 “How are you doing, officer Hopps?” He asks. Judy appreciates how he makes it sound friendly and light, as if he's passing by her desk at work.

 “Good!” She forces herself to say, voice brighter than it's been in weeks. “Great! I don't have any new information from our last phone call,” _thirty-six hours ago_ , “but. Things are good. I'm feeling optimistic.”

 Bogo snorts at that, says, “Well, Agent Quik gave me some information that's going to make you feel less optimistic.” Ugh, Judy thinks, making a face. Kiana. “Her superiors are breathing down her neck, saying this operation is a waste of time and resources. They need something different, something solid. _Actual_ evidence.”

 Judy slowly puts her fork down, shoulders slouching as if the weight of the world is crushing her. She had been afraid of that. Objectively, she knew that just accounting for who was coming and going wouldn't be near enough to take down an operation as big as Mr. Big's, but she had _hoped_. Honestly, Judy doesn't know what else to do. It's not as if she can knock on the door to the restaurant and ask Mr. Big for a job, or an exclusive interview with ZPD's newest recruit.

 “Considering no other undercover agent has gotten this far, you'd think the ABI would be happy.” Her voice is uncharacteristically bitter, some of her persona bleeding through to herself. Judy Fluff is a damaged kid who ran to the big city with bigger dreams, watched them explode in her face, and landed on the streets of downtown city central. Judy Hopps, however, has always been described as a ray of sunlight.

 The constant clash of the two is enough to make her head spin.

 Bogo was honest with her during their first meeting. It's a thing she's learned to appreciate about Bogo, though at first it made her on edge. He's very straight forward, very to the point. He told her about the three other sting operations they've tried to run, about how each one has crashed and burned and one of the officers are still missing. He told her about the time they got a polar bear to wear a wire, and how they found his body in the river only days later.

 Judy knows the risk. Bogo knows the risk. She doesn't think the ABI is willing to acknowledge them, though.

 “Do you want me to pull you from the operation?” He asks her, voice carefully light.

 She knows if she gave the word, he'd be regretful but he would do it. No questions asked. His tone very carefully lacks judgment, but the weightlessness of his comment makes her stomach churn. Judy Hopps is a bunny who doesn't know when to quit. She's seen the way Mr. Big's operation has turned the downtown area upside down, mom and pop businesses closing businesses because of his high “protection” taxes, kids addicted to whatever drugs he deigns to allow in his territory, the buyouts to the politicians and who knows what other operations he's running that the ZPD isn't in the know of.

 “I became a cop to help people,” she says carefully, meeting his eyes. She refuses to look away. “And if I have to get my paws dirty to do that, then so be it.”

 It may be the light filtering in through the window, but she thinks she sees something like respect in Bogo's expression. Whatever it is, he's quick to wipe it away.

 "Right then,” he says. He stands, tall and imposing in the small room. This is really a motel meant more so for medium sized mammals. His shoulders cave in slightly, and she can see he looks visibly uncomfortable. “That's all Agent Quik wanted me to report on. I have a mountain of paperwork back at the station, haven't been able to sleep a wink with this missing predator case we have. Feel free to use the room, the check out time is 12. Please, do the world a favor and bathe, Officer Hopps.”

 He leaves with little fanfare, and she listens to his undercover car rumble away into the distance.

 Judy does not bathe. Bathing would mean wiping off the filth and grit she's accumulated over the past few weeks. The soot is a marking of a street kid, which she is now. She's not Officer Judy Hopps. Any other kid living on the streets wouldn't get a ZPD paid motel room, wouldn't get food delivered to her and a comfy bed to sleep in, for the night.

 She doesn't even recognize herself in the mirror.

 She looks like she's been dragged through the mud, like every other face she sees down the dark alleys at night, huddling to keep warm. Like the young mammals standing on corners late at night, just trying to make enough to survive winter. Like the kids fallen through the cracks of a system that doesn't care.

 She's doing this for them.

 She splashes water on her face, only what she would do in a gas station bathroom, and leaves the motel without even looking back.

 Judy takes the long way back, ducking through side streets and complicated main ones. She can't risk being conspicuous, having someone tail her to her meetings with Bogo. They're supposed to be few and far between, but before she had even gone out into the field, they had planned to meet at the motel five weeks in. Judy had been hoping to have slightly more progress, but like she had said, the ABI should be happy with anything they get.

 Big's operation is very big, but each member of it is closely knit and tough to crack. None of them are stupid, and Big must rule with an iron fist to inspire that kind of loyalty.

 On the way back, Judy runs over plans in her head. How can she infiltrate an organization that tight? She wonders, not for the first time and certainly not the last, if she's the right person for this assignment.

 A car horn honking pulls her out of her reverie, startling her into looking toward the source of the noise. That's the problem with big ears, or a blessing in this case. She sees a fox, a familiar one, one she's seen entering and exiting the Big family restaurant with growing frequency, glaring daggers at a truck driver. The ram in the drivers seat brays at him, honks his horn again for good measure, and drives away.

 Her eyes are stuck to the fox.

 She's only met a fox once in her life: Gideon Grey. He was a terror when they were kids, but Judy got the pleasure to watch him grow into himself, a fox who baked pastries every day and told stories to all the neighborhood kits on the weekends. When her parents would send her over to his house with a basket full of apples and berries, he'd invite her in, and she'd sit on his counter and chat for hours as he baked. She considers him a good friend, and a better man.

 The fox in front of her is most decidedly not a good fox. He's _that_ fox, one that you'd see on the news. Slimy and slinky and distrustful. Foxes are tricksters, or, most foxes, anyway, and this one looks nothing but trouble.

 He's perfect.

 She follows him with her eyes, watching as he strolls into an elephant run ice cream parlor. She's tiny enough that she doesn't cause the overhead bell to ding when she slips in, and the fox pays her no attention.

 Judy hides behind the leg of an hippo in front of her, heart pounding as she watches the fox stumble forward in line with a tiny, gray shape at his side.

 “Listen,” the elephant says, all intimidation and anger. The fox doesn't react to his imposing form, not like Judy would. “I don't know what you're doing skulking around, but I don't want any trouble here so hit the road!”

 She watches the fox transform in front of her. His shoulders slouch and and he visibly makes himself smaller, trying to look vulnerable and desperate.

 “I'm not looking for any trouble either, sir!” He says, voice smooth. He sounds like a used car salesman, one that would trick a sultan out of his family fortune. “I simply want to buy a Jumbo Pop for my little boy.”

 The establishment practically melts at the sight of the toddler, walking on shaky legs. Judy stares at the fox with a crinkled brow. Maybe she's overestimated him. Maybe he's not a close friend of Mr. Big's. Maybe he's being blackmailed into working for him, just to support his poor son. A sad victim of the crime lord, down on his luck and desperate. He's the type of mammal she's trying to save, not her enemy.

 Judy thinks that, of course, until she notices the large ears on the toddler, the white fur. A fennec fox. Of course. She snorts to herself, annoyed that she had been drawn under his spell. The fox is good, that's for sure.

 She watches, vaguely amused as he asks his accomplice what flavor of jumbo pop he wants. The fennec fox wobbles again, sucks determinedly on his pacifier, and points to the red.

 Judy turns to leave, at this point. A fox running a scam just to get a popsicle isn't a fox who's going to unwittingly help her take down Mr. Big, that's for sure. He's probably a low level lackey, not even high enough on the food chain to have ever even met the man. She's wasted enough time today.

 The elephant tells him to leave, and Judy turns to watch as the fennec fox pulls up on his hood, turns his outfit into an elephant costume just as his “dad” is spinning a heart touching story.

 “Who am I to crush his little dreams, right?”

 And then the elephant demands he leave, again, insulting his intelligence, and it lights a fire in Judy, one she hasn't felt since everyone at the academy called her cute, since her parents told her she could never be a cop, since the world told her she was nothing. She decides an in is an in, takes a deep breath, and walks toward the front of the line.

 “Excuse me!” She calls, drawing attention to herself.

 She sees the foxes eyes light up with recognition, and it's enough to make her want to duck out of the ice cream parlor, to run back to her alley and huddle against the wall. Bogo's voice is in her ear, whispering about how many shades of horrible every other undercover officer's fate had gone once they were discovered. But, she smiles, that bright one that got her out of doing the dishes.

 “What,” the elephant grumps, “Is there a sign out front inviting more garbage into my shop?”

 “I just had a quick question!” Judy says, talking over him. She turns to the mammals eating by the window and asks loudly, “Do your customers know they're getting snot and mucus with their cookies and cream?”

 The effect is instant. Three elephants blow the ice cream from their trunks, and she hears the clatter of silver wear hitting the table, dropped like a hot potato at her words. She smirks.

 “What are you talking about?” The elephant asks, looking like he's about to throw her from the shop.

 Judy does the exact opposite of what the fox did. She stands taller, shoulders back and head high, and pitches her voice, “I didn't want to cause you any trouble, but I was walking past and happened to notice that your workers are scooping ice cream with an ungloved trunk, which, if I remember right, isn't that a Class 3 Health Code violation?”

 The elephant in question drops the ice cream he had been scooping. It plops against the counter with a sickening squelch. The customer's eyes are wide as they stare at the scene, and the elephant hurriedly rushes to the back room.

 The one at the register narrows his eyes at her.

 “I mean,” she smiles, sickeningly sweet, “I'm just a dumb rabbit, but that sounds like kind of a big deal, don't you think? One that could, oh, I dunno, shut down your business?”

 The fox won't stop staring at her, and she meets his gaze with a quick wink. She doesn't know what kind of game he's playing, but she's more than willing to play along with him.

 “But, I'm sure a call to the cops won't be necessary, if you would just let this nice dad buy his son a-,” she frowns, turns to him and asks, “What was it?”

He smiles, and though it doesn't reach his eyes, it's bright and happy. “A jumbo pop. Please.”

 “A jumbo pop,” she repeats, because even though the elephant has big ears, he looks ready to ignore them.

 The elephant sighs, as if they're asking him to murder someone, not make money off of some down on their luck folks.

 The fox thanks her, and begins rummaging through his pockets for his wallet, only to say, “Oh, I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached to me. Thanks anyway, miss.”

 She knows the play. She narrows her eyes at him and he sends her a toothy smile, before apologizing to his son over the loss of his birthday treat.

 Judy had a good morning, scored three wallets on her way to meet with Bogo. She's broken her personal rule of staying in the shadows, of blending in, and now the fox knows that Judy Fluff is someone wandering around his territory.

 She is not letting him walk out of this ice cream stand without feeling like he owes her something.

Reluctantly, she pulls the thickest wallet out of her pocket, and she catches the foxes quick, quiet huff of amusement as he sees an ID that does not sport her name or her photograph, or even her species. She's almost petulant as she hops up to the counter, smacking the $20 bill onto it with far more attitude than intended.

 This fox knows how to push all of her buttons, it seems.

 She's just glad she already ate today.


	2. Chapter 2

The popsicle dwarfs the fox, and outside he is all pleasantries, all big smiles and, “Thank you so much miss, we really can't begin to thank you enough.”

“Cut the act,” she says, too much bite in her voice. It burns her up inside to know that in another life, one where she didn't know how tricky this city can be, she would have fallen for his act. That she almost had, in fact. She's taking this too personally, and maybe that's making her act unbelievable.

It works, though.

The fox changes in an instant. Gone is the concerned, trying father, and in his place is the fox she recognized outside, the one who stands tall and has a lazy face, like the world belongs to him. “It's called a hustle, sweetheart. I'm not an actor.”

Even his voice is different, smooth and sultry. Judy almost bawks at the idea that he's not an actor. How can he say that when he can change his face a hundred times in a second?

“Whatever,” she says, following as the pair turns to leave. “You owe me.”

“What,” he asks over his shoulder, “Your pathetic $15? I'm sure you make more than that in a day, Carrots. I've seen you work.”

That pulls Judy short. She's only ever seen this fox outside the Big's restaurant. She is always waiting, always watching the streets, but how could she not notice someone watching her? She doesn't believe him for a second, but there was the way his eyes widened when he saw her, the too familiar way he let her take control.

“No you haven't,” she argues, refusing to believe that she's the mouse in this game.

“'Course we have. Right, Finnick?”

“Yeah,” the smaller of the duo says, shocking Judy with how deep his voice is. “You've got smooth hands, for a rabbit. Everyone knows that.”

Is that a thing? Rabbits not having smooth hands? Judy feels out of her depth here, stomach clenching at the idea of being _watched_ , of having a _reputation_ , but still she pushes on, “Yeah, okay, but I still need to eat. I helped you, now you help me.”

The fox turns around but the other one, Finnick, keeps marching along, popsicle waving in the air like a proud flag.

“Look, that may have been the way things worked in, what, I'm guessing Rabbit-Orchard? But here, it's every man for themselves.” The fox gestures behind him to Finnick, still waddling along down the road. He looks both ways before ducking into a side street. “See that? That's my accomplice intending to run away with my share of the goods. If I spend anymore time here, educating you, then he's going to take my paycheck for the day, and it will be my fault. So thanks, but no thanks. Have a nice day.”

The fox turns again, hands in his pockets and stance relaxed as he follows after Finnick.

Judy's face twists up. Her foot stomps the ground once, twice, and then she's following after him, refusing to let her one shot into the Big operation leave her in the dust.

“I don't care,” she says, hopping along beside him. “I helped secure the goods. I want in on the profit. And I don't care how things are done here, you both owe me or else you'd be out one giant popsicle and whatever plan you have for the day would be ruined.”

“Tell me if this story sounds familiar,” the fox says, still talking to the air in front of him, as if her existence is below him. “Naive little farm bunny decides to split hicksville and says 'hey look at me, I'm gonna move to Zootopia! Where anyone can be anything!' except she gets here and, oops, the world isn't actually made of fairy dust and rainbows and she fails, spectacularly, might I add, once she realizes that, uh oh, we _don't_ all get along, and the world isn't especially kind to know it all bunnies who butt in where they aren't wanted.”

She's speechless, partly because of the ache in her chest and the other part in amazement that he can talk for so long without choking on his own silver tongue. It's true, in a small way, and it stabs at Judy's chest the way he can read her so easily. She's glad he hasn't seen below the surface though, and sticks on the hurt, but determined face her persona would wear at the vitriol he's throwing at her.

They're at the mouth of the alley, and tucked near a fire escape is an old van with fire painted on the side. Finnick sits in the front seat, looking more bored the longer his friend takes.

“We would have gotten the goods without you, one way or another, like we've been doing everyday since we were twelve.” The fox pats her on the head and she pushes his arm away, hating the smug look on his face. “Look around, sweetheart. You're in Zootopia, and the world is shit. Why don't you get back to stealing wallets and sleeping in dumpsters. Maybe someday you'll be smart enough to think of your own con.”

He opens his mouth again, but Judy can't hear anymore. She turns and leaves, head down and shoulders slumped, cursing herself for thinking that that could possibly work. Of course they wouldn't let her infringe on their con. Of course they were just using her. She feels stupid and reckless and most of all angry. She thought she saw through the hustle but she was just a victim as any.

She heads back to her usual spot and sits atop the dumpster, playing the conversation over and over again in her mind to see if there was anything she could have done different, if he gave her any new information to Mr. Big's organization.

He gave her nothing. Almost.

She's being watched. She doesn't know by who, or why, but Finnick and the other guy basically spelled it out for her. She's building a name for herself in the downtown area as the homeless bunny with the fast hands and the wallet collection. They even sounded almost like they admired her for it.

And the guy told her to start her own con.

Maybe she had the wrong idea about living in the shadows. Maybe to get an in, she needs to be louder, bolder, needs to prove that she'd be a good investment.

She leans against the brick wall, looks at the sky, and thinks.

\- -

Judy steals more. She steals bigger. She refuses to feel bad about, just nabs and grabs like there's no tomorrow. The scarifies these people are making is going to save Zootopia, or at least, that's how she sleeps at night.

She takes leather jackets and expensive looking knock offs, takes jewelry and cellphones and anything small, anything expensive. In the mornings, she sells them to the merchants in the touristy district, the ones with tables set up on sidewalks and voices like an auctioneer. They never ask how she got them and she never offers, and they're more than generous with their pay.

This goes on for two weeks. She doesn't see the fox anymore, and she doesn't drink stale coffee outside of the restaurant. She lets herself forget, gets lost in the lull of the day to day, just who she is and what she's doing. And maybe it's better that way. Maybe, if she lets the persona she's created take over, she'll finally succeed.

Her persona is a bitter nineteen year old with quick hands and quicker feet. She doubts the girl could take on their world, even though she acts like it. No, Judy needs to be both Fluff and Hopps if she's going to take down the Big crime organization. She needs to be street smart and book smart.

She gets better at it.

It's late when she sees him again. Judy's sitting in an alley, counting her stack of cash and not knowing what to do with it. She's been averaging almost two hundred dollars a day and has been eating better than she has in weeks. Still, there's a lot of disposable income here. She considers donating it to the homeless shelter, but is that what her persona would do?

“Geeze Carrots,” he says, startling her. She hides the money in her back pocket as soon as she hears his voice. “I told you to start a con, not turn into the biggest petty thief in Zootopia.”

He's at the mouth of the alley, leaning against the wall with a suspiciously red popsicle in his mouth. It's one actually made for a mammal his size, in the shape of a small paw print. He sucks on it as he stares at her.

She makes herself relax, shrugs at him, “Girl's gotta eat, and you weren't interested in helping.”

“It's a predator eat prey world we live in,” he says, grinning toothily at her. “You either figure out how to survive, or you die. Circle of life. What, are you saving up to get back home to mommy and daddy? Big city too much for you?”

“No home to go back to,” she says, making her voice small so her lie comes out genuine.

The fox frowns at her admission, asks, “How long have you been in the city?”

“Does it matter?” She asks, voice harsh and defensive. Judy hasn't talked to most of the homeless youth in the city, but she knows that every one of them holds details close to the chest. They wouldn't tell you anything personal about them, even if you paid them.

“'Suppose not,” he says, sounding distant. There's a look on his face Judy can't decipher. He quickly shakes it away. “Listen, I've got a job for you tomorrow, if you're looking for work.”

Excitement thrums like a guitar string pulled taught inside of her, nerves dancing. Judy tries hard to not let her happiness show on her face, ecstatic that her plan is finally working.

“Are we going to hustle another popsicle out of a poor elephant?” She tries to make her voice sound disinterested and is unsure if it works.

He grins at her again, sharper this time, “No, I've got that one covered. I'll give you the details tomorrow. Meet me on the corner of Hawthorne and 3rd at noon, if you're interested.”

And then he's gone, slipping around the corner like a ghost.

She wakes up early that morning and heads two blocks north, finding herself at a small gas station that's relatively empty on this fine, Sunday morning. She thinks it's Sunday, anyway. The days blur together lately and she judges based on how busy the streets are- weekends are never nearly as busy as weekdays.

She pays for a water and a small fruit salad, frowning as she sees 'sugar' listed in the ingredient list. Sugar should only come into contact with fruit on special occasions, like birthdays or weddings. The farmer in her shudders.

She asks the Dik-dik behind the counter if she can use the bathroom and he waves her on without paying the slightest bit of attention.

The light in the bathroom is atrocious, making her look like a ghost. It highlights her sunken in cheeks, the black around her violet eyes. She's been eating better than she has in weeks, but she still looks like a poster rabbit for starving kits. Cold water splashes against her fur, and she twitches her nose as the drops cling to her whiskers.

After a quick wash down, she looks somewhat presentable. She pats herself dry with a paper towel and heads out.

At the end of the hallway, there's a payphone, and Judy doesn't think twice before coughing up the 50 cents required to make a call.

Bogo answers on the first ring. It's a burner phone, one he picked up before she started the assignment, and they practiced the number over and over again until she could repeat it as easy as breathing.

It's all in code, like the chief of police is a friend from her home town, someone she went to school with, someone she said bye to when she ran to the big city to chase her dreams. She tells him about the new job she's got, how she's feeling good about being in the city and can't wait to tell him more. He sounds relieved, and tries to pester her for details but it's not a secure line and she can't say anything more than, “It's just a small job, nothing big. Gotta bus some tables before they let you be the waitress, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that,” he says, and Judy always wants to laugh when Bogo tries to pretend to be a twenty year old kid. The faux casualness in his voice would probably send his station into hysterics. “Mom's been breathing down my neck about these college applications.”

The ABI is still putting pressure on him. Judy frowns, “Your mom should be chasing after the rest of her warren. You know how to take care of yourself.”

After that, he rambles on about their 'home town' and how everyone 'misses her'. She's the talk of the town, which she takes to mean that people have been coming into the station to complain about the thieving rabbit. It's always hard to tell with code. She lets herself get lost in the lull of his voice, hears the sound of the police station in the background and tries to imagine she's there instead of here.

He tells her she's doing great, and that he's proud of her, and she tells him she'll call when she can.

Judy sits on the curb of Hawthorn and 3rd and eats her salad, waits for the clock to strike 12 and watches as a familiar van rumbles down the street, engine louder than a train. There's rock music blaring out the window when Finnick rolls it down, and she can't see his expression behind his sun glasses.

The other fox is there too, staring at her like he's surprised she showed up. She tosses her mess in a nearby trashcan and crawls through the opened door. The back of the trunk is clearly someones home, the floor an array of layered blankets that create a soft cocoon. Posters cover the walls of the van, some metal head group she's never heard of. There's clothes all over the place, and Judy only hopes the sheets are clean as she sits down on them, annoyed that there's no seats or seat belts or anything back here.

The van moves on with no pleasantries exchanged, the two foxes looking pleased to sit in silence until Judy breaks it.

They can't hear her, so Finnick turns down the radio until it's a quiet whisper. She tries again.

“What's this job I haven't heard much about?”

The other fox, the one with the tie and the smug look on his face, simply says, “Well, sweetheart, now if you wanted details, you should have asked last night.”

“I would have,” Judy says, a slow smirk on her face, “But it was getting dark and someone here ran away like a pup with his tail between his legs.”

Finnick snorts out a laugh at that. The other fox doesn't reply.

“You said you'd give me the details today,” Judy reminds him. Without thinking, she asks him, “What's your name?”

“Does it matter?” He asks loftily, throwing her words back at him. He grins, “Nick Wilde, at your service. What about you, Hopalong? Unless you want me to keep calling you Carrots?

“Judy,” she says simply, “Judy Fluff.”

He barks out a laugh at that, and even she has to agree it's a ridiculous name. Kiana came up with it for her, deciding that Judy was common enough and there's more than enough Fluff's running around to not warrant any suspicion.

“Alrighty, Fluff,” Nick says, snorting again at the name. “Today I'm in need of those quick little paws of yours. How good are you at making grabs?”

“I think you know already,” she says, remembering his comment last night.

“What he means is,” Finnick speaks up, shocking her yet again with the deep timber of his voice, “Do you think you can grab a gun off of someone?”

Judy freezes at that, like a deer caught in headlights. She thinks of the weight of a gun in her hands back at the academy, thinks of the hours she spent taking apart her weapon just to put it back together, until she could do it blindfolded. Thinks of the feel of rounds as they slid through her paws.

“I can do it,” she says, the confidence in her voice startling her.

She was expecting something different, something simple like getting a popsicle from a bigoted elephant, but she wanted an in into the the organization and it seems like she picked the right fox.

Nick takes a second and looks at her, as if gauging her level of competence. Then, he shrugs, turns forward, and says, “Just don't get shot, okay Carrots?”

He turns up the radio again before she can reply.

 


End file.
